


Language of Love

by whitewolfandthefox



Series: Geraskier One Shots [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23270440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitewolfandthefox/pseuds/whitewolfandthefox
Summary: Geraskier fic. Jaskier comes to the rescue when Geralt runs into a language barrier during a hunt. Based on this post: https://riviawitch3r.tumblr.com/search/but%20internally%20hes%20all%20wtf?????
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier One Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707202
Comments: 8
Kudos: 248





	Language of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little drabble for @riviawitch3r! They posted about this a while back and it's been bouncing around in my brain. I’ve never written Geraskier before, so hopefully it comes through!
> 
> The language is Icelandic. I did a trip there a couple of years ago and absolutely loved the language! It likely has some errors though, apologies to anyone who speaks it!

Geralt was _fucking_ frustrated. He had been fighting a pack of werewolves, and one had gotten away. Jaskier had gotten a little too close to the fight and one of the creatures had gone after him. Geralt, in his panic, had abandoned the monster he had been fighting in favour of taking out the one near Jaskier, but ended up losing the alpha. The contract had specified that the alpha had to be taken out; if it wasn’t it would just move to a new area and start a new pack by turning unsuspecting humans.

Two days later, Geralt was cold and wet, having followed the werewolf to this town. Knowing it was hiding in the woods and wouldn’t appear until night, he had stopped at an inn, requesting a room for the night and a hot meal for himself and the bard. The innkeeper didn’t speak a language that Geralt knew, so they struggled to communicate but eventually figured it out. 

Jaskier had been quiet ever since the attack. Geralt knew he felt bad that the alpha had gotten away, but he had no idea how to make sure Jaskier knew it wasn’t his fault. He had tried to comfort the bard but his gruff manner and lack of words made it hard.

Just as Geralt was opening his mouth to try again, unable to stand the uncomfortable silence that was so unusual from the bard, the door to the inn burst open. 

“Varúlfar! Það eru varúlfar í bænum!” A man came running in, blood streaming from his shoulder. He stumbled as he tried to stop, collapsing against the bar. His chest heaved as his eyes flashed, gibberish continuing to fall from his mouth.

From the man’s injuries and terror, Geralt inferred that it was likely the werewolf he had been hunting. Varúlfar, _werewolf_. That was one of the few words that Geralt knew. Standing, Geralt approached the man as the crowd around them scattered. He knelt next to the man, golden eyes piercing as he stared at him.

“Varúlfar?” Geralt asked. The man nodded frantically. 

“Það var á jaðri bæjarins, ég var ráðist!” The man gabbled, hand latching onto a strap on Geralt’s armour. “Mikið loðin dýra, það var það. Enginn eins og ég hef séð áður.”

“Slower, please, I can’t understand you.” Geralt was growing frustrated at the lack of communication. He knew it was the beast he was hunting, but had no idea where he could find it. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Geralt growled, turning to berate the poor villager who had tried to interrupt him only to see Jaskier standing there, concern in his eyes. 

“Let me try, Geralt.” Jaskier murmured. “I might be able to help.”

Standing, Geralt gestured at the man. “Be my guest.” Turning, he stalked a few meters away as Jaskier took his place on the floor.

“Varúlfur? Hvar sástu það?” Jaskier asked, voice soft as he tried to soothe the distressed man.

Geralt stared.

“Já já já. Í norðurhlið þorpsins var þetta mikið dýr.” Latching onto someone who was able to understand him and would listen, he continued. “Það reyndi að fara á eftir börnunum, ég myndi ekki láta það vera.”

Turning to look at Geralt, Jaskier translated. “The werewolf went after some children on the northern side of the village.”

He grunted. “Ask him if it was just the one.”

As Jaskier turned back to the victim, Geralt was in disbelief. _Since when did Jaskier speak Íslensku_ ? He thought back to all of the times he would have trouble communicating with the locals in his travels and Jaskier would just sweep in with the answers. _Had he been multilingual this whole time? Fuck, that would have made so many missions easier. He really needed to stop underestimating his bard._

Tuning back in, Geralt listened to the rest of the information Jaskier translated for him before gruffly telling Jaskier, “Stay here.”

Leaving the man once a healer arrived, Jaskier moved to where Geralt was preparing for the fight. Jaskier stretched up on his toes to place a kiss on Geralt’s cheek.

“Be careful.” he whispered, stepping back to allow Geralt out of the inn. The taller man stared down at him before nodding, brushing a gentle hand over the other’s cheek as he turned to exit the inn into the rain.

**~*~*~*~**

Later that night, after Geralt had returned from a successful hunt, the two were curled up in front of a fire. After Geralt had returned, the innkeeper had insisted on upgrading the two of them to a larger room, refusing any payment in return. Again, Geralt was astounded by the ease with which Jaskier was able to communicate, fluent in the language. 

The smaller man looked up at him, “What are you so pensive about tonight?”

Geralt looked down, eyes soft. “I didn’t know you were fluent in _Íslensku_.”

Jaskier frowned. “I did go to Oxenfurt for four years, love. I had the opportunity to study a great many languages.”

Geralt lifted himself onto a forearm to stare at the man next to him. “Just how many languages do you know, Jaskier?”

“How many? That’s a good question.” He lifted a hand to tick off the languages as he listed them. “Common speech, Íslensku, Dwarvish, Nilfgaardian, Gnomish. There are also a great many dialects, did you want me to list those as well?” 

When he received no response, he looked up at Geralt, who was staring. “Geralt?” he prodded the man. “Are you still with me?”

Geralt shook his head before laying back down, tugging the bard with him to tuck him into his chest. “I always forget you are so much more intelligent than I am. My educated bard.”

Squirming so he could see Geralt’s face, Jaskier poked at him. “Don’t say that, love, you are just as intelligent as me. Just in different ways.”

Geralt hummed, threading his hand through Jaskier’s hair to tug his head back down, stroking his other hand down his spine. Jaskier snuggled in closer, sighing as the warmth from his Witcher enveloped him. “I will just have to teach you then, make you just as smart as me.”

Geralt smiled softly, “I would love that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like always, kudos and comments are appreciated! They motivate me to write more :) Come yell at me on tumblr! @stretchkingblog97


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